


A Match Made In Hell

by hazelandglasz



Category: Glee
Genre: Alternate Universe, Alternate Universe - Different First Meeting, Bad Boy Blaine, Fluff, M/M, Skank Kurt Hummel
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2014-10-08
Updated: 2014-10-08
Packaged: 2018-02-20 09:25:06
Rating: Not Rated
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 2
Words: 1,766
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/2423594
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/hazelandglasz/pseuds/hazelandglasz
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Anonymous asked</p><p> </p><p> klaine + you stole a car with someone sleeping in the backseat, turns out you stole a car that someone else had already stolen au</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Chapter 1

Blaine usually lets Puck deal with the theft and general act that could land him or them in juvie.

Usually. But out of the two of them, Blaine is the one with the more delicate touch, and stealing a New Beetle requires first and foremost a lot of … delicateness.

And Puck reallt wants that car, something about it being the perfect car for Quinn to go around the city with their baby, and Blaine has a soft spot for Puck just as much as Puck has a soft spot for Blaine.

They work well together, against all odds.

Blaine is rolling away when a yawn coming from behind him makes him jump in his seat, nearly sending him, the car and his … passenger in a lamp post.

"What the fuck?" he shouts, fixing the car’s swerving into a more normal pattern, waving an apology to the driver behind him.

The Yawner stretches into a seating position, and Blaine’s heart hammers in his chest for a completely different reason now.

Long limbs stretched up like a cat, the guy has luminous hair highlighted with a deep pink, color echoed in the stitches of his denim jacket (sleeves tastefully torn away to reveal long, strong muscles) and in the patch of tissue sewn as kneepads in the guy’s skinny, skinny jeans.

"What the hell indeed," the guy replies, joining Blaine in the front of the car with a graceful move. "Care to explain where we’re going?"

Blaine blinks, hesitating to take his eyes from the road to stare at Pink and Pretty. “You seem awfully chill about having someone else drive your car,” he settles on saying and the guy merely shrugs.

"If you managed to overwhelm my own security, my own lock—and nobdy can claim to do just that, buddy—then you deserve to take the piece of junk," he replies and Blaine nearly slams the brakes.

"You highjacked that car?" he exclaims, taking advantage of a red light to look at his fellow thief.

"Kurt, Skank provider," the guy says with a smile and a jaunty wave.

"Blaine, magic fingers," Blaine replies with a salute and a nod, returning his eyes on the road and missing the tilt of Kurt’s head and the upturn of his lips.

Thankfully, Kurt waits for the next red light to speak up. “Magic fingers, uh?”


	2. Kurt's POV

It doesn’t take Kurt a long time to realize that someone is stealing his car.

Well, “his” car—he slaved over opening it and starting it without the car making too much of a fuss, and he relocked it from the inside to get a quick nap before taking it to Puck to split it open and get his share of the sale of the spare parts back to the Skanks for a little feast.

Ergo, _his_ car.

But he can give it to his thief, he knows what he does around a car.

Cracking one eye opened, Kurt lifts the blanket covering him and hiding him from anybody, including—heeeeello, Mr. Leather jacket and torn jeans that don’t do nothing to hide the strong muscles of your thighs and what Kurt can see of your butt.

Hmm, his Anaconda does want.

Well, time to play—Kurt lets out a voluntarily too loud yawn.

"What the fuck!" his "driver" shouts, the car momentarily going sideways before he can correct their trajectory out of the sidewalk and its inconvenient streetlamps.

Kurt pushes the cover and sits, rolling his shoulders and stretching his arms above his head before looking at Leather Dream in the rearview mirror.

Oh, he knows that the movement makes his arms look even stronger than they are, and the way Leather’s eyes follow the move before darting back to the road—good boy—makes him preen a little.

That being said, those honey, forest eyes (what? Just because he’s a Skank doesn’t mean he can’t be poetic every now and then, does it? Shut up) are quite intriguing and attractive, along with the quiet strength that the man behind the wheel seems to exude.

"What the Hell indeed," he replies, joining Blaine in the front of the car—much better to have a discussion anyway, and it gives him the opportunity to display his long legs in a way he knows to be seductive (Puck isn’t that subtle). "Care to explain where we’re going?" he asks, because even if the guy is attractive, undeniably so, Kurt would like to know if he’s going to end up in a ditch, Dahlia Noir’s style.

Leather and Curls blinks, giving him sideway glances before replying. “You seem awfully chill about having someone else drive your car,” he says, voice calm but tense.

Kurt shrugs because why wouldn’t he be? “If you managed to overwhelm my own security, my own lock—and nobdy can claim to do just that, buddy,” he adds with a pointed finger at his driver because compliments are due here, “—then you deserve to take the piece of junk,” he concludes.

He didn’t exactly expect Leather to brake quite so abruptly. “ _You_ highjacked this car?” he asks, looking shocked—Kurt isn’t sure if it’s shock or admiration, to be honest—before turning in his seat to look at him.

Kurt enjoyed his profile but face to face, there is something even more attractive about the man’s features, like something out of an old Hollywood movie (no, Kurt is not comparing Leather to a young Travolta, what even).

He settles for smiling and giving a little wave of his hand. “Kurt,” he introduces himself, “Skank provider.”

God he sounds like he’s the group’s mother hen.

… Which he totally is.

"Blaine, magic fingers," his driver replies with a touch of his fingers to his temple if a mock salute, and he starts the car as the lights turn green before Kurt can comment.

Though he does tilt his head and smirk at the man, because seriously, this calls for a comment or something. But Kurt doesn’t have a death wish, and he waits for the next red light to lean closer. “Magic fingers, uh?”

Blaine gulps. “That is—I mean, I’m usually Puck’s choice when a delicate touch is requir—stop laughing!” he replies, but he cuts himself short when Kurt’s giggles become audible, though he’s not far behind with his own laughter.

Kurt sobers up and rewinds what Blaine just said. “Puck? As in, ring leader, sort of, and seller of spare parts Noah Puckerman ?”

"The one and only."

"Thank God for that," Kurt mumbles and Blaine lets out a snort coupled with a giggle. "So I guess Puck’s den is our destination?"

Blaine nods, taking a turn and Kurt’s eyes go for his hands on the steerwheel. Clean, strong, capable—and magic, Kurt thinks with a repressed laugh.

"Care for a detour before we go there?" he asks, leaning back in the seat and crossing his legs. He does not miss the way Blaine’s eyes follow the line of his right leg from his ankle to his thigh—good boy. "I could use a little breakfast at Tina’s, in Brook—"

"I know the place," Blaine cuts in, a small smirk on his face. "Tina is a friend, and I know a shortcut."

They end up at the 24/7 dinner just as Tina adds her magical touch (also known as maple syrup sprinkles) to her panffles—half pancake, half waffle—and they sit at a table close to the window.

Kurt digs in his own plate of panffles, humming as Marley brings them freshly brewed coffee and he listens to the kitchen’s sounds srafting from the opened door, but Blaine—his manners belie his leather jacket.

Kurt pauses in his own little feast to look at him quietly unfold his napkin to put it on his lap before he starts cutting the panffles, taking small, almost delicate bites. It’s all so deliciously quaint that Kurt is close to swooning.

"You’re a conundrum," he finally says, returning his gaze to his plate, smiling thankfully at Marley who drops by with a plate of bacon for Kurt and a [plate of pineapple  ](http://www.runningfreeonline.com/Portals/0/images/Hollywood/News-Articles/2010/Aug/WLW-MintandPineappleCarpaccio_1359C-pineapple_thumb.png)for Blaine.

"How so?" Blaine asks, reaching for a piece of bacon he skewers with a rolled slice of pineapple.

"The whole bad boy persona," Kurt replies with a waved hand at the jacket, "does not compute with those preppy, perfect manners, dear."

Blaine cocks one eyebrow but doesn’t comment, still chewing on his weird mix and Kurt takes advantage of the lull in the conversation to snatch a piece of pineapple to try it for himself.

It is quite good actually, the acidity of the pineapple washing the grease of the bacon but enhancing the perfect taste of it.

Blaine must see his surprise on his face and he delicately puts his cutlery on both sides of his plate to pick up his mug of coffee, holding it with both hands as he sniffs it, eyes fluttering shut at his obvious pleasure.

This is pornographic, and Kurt isn’t ashamed to stare.

"Sometimes, things don’t look like they make sense until you try them," Blaine finally says, eyes shut but a smirk firmly on his face as he takes a sip and smacks his lips.

Kurt can’t resist the impulse. “Is that an invitation?”

Blaine lets out a soft giggle, low and sweet, before humming a melody.

Kurt knows that he knows that song, but it takes Blaine to actually [sing it](http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=2ezNKVfpBZU) under his breath for it to click.

_"If you really wanna know, if I can stand your brand of love_

_Try me, why don’t you try me …”_

Kurt feels like his heart is trying to come out of his chest to sigh after the bad boy / crooner / he doesn’t even know but he wants to, and all he can do is join in the song.

_"If you want to know if I’m affected by the moon above, c’m’on and_

_"Try me, why don’t you try me…"_

Blaine beams at him before putting his hand on the table, palm facing the ceiling in a clear invitation.

And Kurt has never backed down from an invitation or a challenge.

—-

They do end up “trying” each other in the back of the car, on top of Kurt’s plaid cover, with hands gropping different body parts and kisses that taste of bacon, maple syrup and pineapples.

And when they bring the car to the Den, Puck doesn’t even try to hide that he was setting them up, that asshole.

But neither of them notice the exchange of money that take place between their friends.


End file.
